


So much for being a god

by Dusty_K



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Burns, Knives, Shears - Freeform, Torture, basically any injury trigger applies, don't even read this it's 3 am and i'm miserable with food poisoning, technoblade makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 23:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_K/pseuds/Dusty_K
Summary: This is a torture fic. It’s my interpretation of everything we missed after the blackout in dream’s prison on Quackity’s big stream.***DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN. or if you don't want to read something really violent.***
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	So much for being a god

**Author's Note:**

> This is about the DREAM SMP characters, Dream and Quackity. There is absolutely no relation to the real life characters.  
> Sorry if that's confusing with the tagged fandom, but there's no Dream SMP fandom yet.
> 
> it is very late at night. just wanted to get something out there before i fell asleep and lost the drive
> 
> also i may have misjudged just how gorey it is, i can't really remember, it's too late at night
> 
> edit: it's morning now and i'm thinking i might continue it because 3 am me is apparently a more competent writer than i initially thought, i haven't publicly written anything in four years lol

“Quackity….” 

Quackity smiled with feigned professionalism, contrasting sharply against Sam’s hesitancy and fear. With a deep breath and a sense of finality, Sam continues, “If you’re going to do this, Big Q, then… do it right.” He handed him a pair of previously concealed shears, closely followed by his own sharpest weapons. 

Quackity’s smile turned into a treacherous grin.  
He’d had his doubts up until this point, but he knows with absolute certainty that Sam is on the right track. 

====

“There’s been enough talking, Dream. You’re going to tell me, or we’re gonna do this the fucking hard way for as long as I need to do it.” 

“No… NO. NO, NO NO NO NO, STAY AWAY FROM ME! I’LL - I’LL KILL YOU, QUACKITY! I CAN KILL YOU! I killed Tommy, I CAN KILL YOU-“

“You’ve backed yourself into a corner, Dream,” Quackity noted, unfazed. He raised the sword to keep him trapped.

“You can’t do this! You wouldn’t do this… come on, Quackity…”

The heat from the falling lava singed Dream’s hair as he shuffled into it for some semblance of protection. 

“You wouldn’t,” Dream said, barely audible behind the mask. 

Promptly proving him wrong, Quackity grabbed the front of Dream’s shirt and shoved his shoulder into the lava.

For a split second, Dream didn’t react; there was only shock. The only sounds were the falling lava and the searing of flesh. When the silence broke, though, it was filled with nothing but incoherent screams of pain.

Quackity threw him to the ground, a sickening crack sounding when his skull connected with the retracted gate of netherite on the floor. This silenced him for a moment. His arm wore a sizzling mass of burning flesh, and his hoodie was burning away. 

When Dream tried to get up, to scramble away, to do anything, the sword was back at his neck. A wrong move could very effectively kill him. Dream was injured, sure, but he was smart enough not to lunge directly into the knife. He wasn’t quite at that point yet.

Quackity crouched next to Dream, sword at ready, watching him writhe pathetically on the ground. He was whimpering, using some unknown amount of self control to not shout bloody murder. 

With one swift motion, Quackity tore his smiley mask off of Dream’s face and crushed it. “I’m going to get that fucking book, Dream. I’ll be here as long as it takes.” 

“I’m not — not— telling you. Anything.” Dream cursed through gritted teeth.

Quackity grabbed the shears with his fist, still holding Dream captive, and plunged them into his upper thigh, into the muscle. He was careful to miss any arteries.

In panic, Dream tried to scramble towards the lava, towards the vague direction of Sam, despite the shears in his leg. 

“I can’t have you moving, Dream.” Dream’s screams for Sam were becoming so frustrating. They were so annoying. All Quackity could do was shout above them. “I said, I can’t have you moving, or this is gonna be a lot worse!” Dream’s eyes snapped to Quackity’s, a mix of fear and bitter hatred under them. 

Quackity twists the shears. Dream screams as the muscles in his right thigh protest, rip, snap, and then become useless. He tries to struggle, but struggling against the bloody mess of his leg only proves to be causing more damage than progress, inciting yet another cry of pain. 

“SAAAA-sA-AM,” he shouts, the end of the word breaking down into choked breaths, the gap in pain allowing for tears to take over. 

Restraining Dream’s functioning arm, Quackity took the sword and carefully slid it into an area just below the elbow, so that the point would end up within the elbow itself.

The intention was to keep Dream from getting up, and it performed excellently. The sword was heavy, and it was long, and were he to lift his arm off the ground, there’s a large chance that it would tear through an important artery and render a large muscle group permanently nonfunctional.

“Look, Dream, this is all professional. There’s abso-lutely nothing personal. Nothing personal here, I promise,” he toned, tapping on the sword. It jostled a large nerve, giving Dream the sensation of hitting his funny bone, except if it were a million times more… sharp. The nervous overload branched through his body, causing him to nearly lurch involuntarily.“I don’t C-CARE,” cried Dream. 

“This is just a buffer, I know you’re not really going to tell me everything immediately. Unless-“ he hesitated as he noticed the bare skin revealed by the burning shirt. “Unless you want to tell me now? I mean, you could tell me everything right now, write everything down, and I’d be out of here. I’d be gone!” He retrieved the shears and pressed them through his skin underneath his collarbone. “I could leave right now, and we would never have to talk again.” Quackity started to carve along the delicate flesh lining the bone, creating a T shaped wall of blood leaking down the front of his body. 

Testing, he ran a finger over the skin he had just carved. It was gentle at first, just a smearing of the fresh blood, until the gap beneath his fingers was noticeable. It was an easy entry. He jammed a finger into the cut, inciting a strong bodily reaction from Dream. Quackity already knew that it was a sensitive area, so it was, simply, the perfect exploit.  
Quackity had never felt the sensation of being beneath the skin of another person. He could practically manipulate the nerve endings with his fingers, could toy with the pain that this horrid thing must be finally feeling. 

Whoops. He accidentally ripped through a relatively important vein, if the shooting of blood into his eyes is anything to go by. Eh, he’d be fine.

Quackity began to worry that Sam was going to file a noise complaint. “I wish that I could shut you up, but then I’d be cutting out your vocal cords, and I need those.” Dream couldn’t respond coherently. 

Very, very slowly, Quackity pulled the sword out of his arm. They could both hear the crackling of tissues being torn and ripped. 

Quackity stood, stepping back.  
He tossed a cloth to the ground. “Tourniquet,” he said. Dream shortly nodded, but did not move. 

“Now,” said Quackity. Dream was bleeding out on the floor. He needed to get it done now, and Quackity sure as hell wasn’t going to do it. 

Dream laid there, unresponsive, looking sadly into the middle distance. There was so much pain in his eyes. 

“NOW,” and in response to this, tears started running down Dream’s face. With one arm burnt and one arm cut open, he used the burned one to painstakingly grab the cloth. 

Dream was out of screams. He just kept crying, twisting the cloth around his elbow, wishing it would end. 

Quackity butted into the slow process, pulling the loop towards him and out of Dream’s hands, yanking on it, tightening it much tighter than strictly necessary, and tying a knot. 

Dream was laid against the far wall, blood running into the sad puddle that’s set to break his fall from his cell’s savepoint.  
Quackity figured he would just leave him like that, imagining that Dream wouldn't be one much for conversation right now. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Dream. Have a good night!”  
He turned to take one final look back at Dream as the bridge retracted. The body was still breathing.  
Good. He’ll need that book, after all.

====

“Hey, Sam,” Quackity smiled. “I’m ready to head out. Also, drop a healing potion in there tonight, or he might not make it.”

Sam looked at him for a long moment with a blank expression, first at Quackity’s face, then scaling his body, then back to his face. Only now did Quackity realize that he was absolutely covered in Dream’s blood. 

There was a moment of silence. Quackity was about to speak again when Sam breathed, “did you get the book?”

“It’s, hah, it’s definitely a process. I’m getting that book, Sam. One piece of it at a time."

====

Quackity stopped right in front of the final portal, and turned to look at Sam. 

“You’re doing the right thing, Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappeared through the portal.

“Have a good night,” he muttered in delayed response. 

Quackity had left Sam’s hands covered in blood when he had given back the weapons.

====

====

Technoblade could hear the screams. 

He couldn’t hear them in real life, no. Not from his home, as far away as he was. 

But he knew what was happening.

He knew what was happening because the voices could hear the screams, and the voices were absolutely not having it.

This isn’t what we do, Technoblade thought. He watched Quackity march across his empty country, covered in blood.  
This isn’t what we should do.

“Favor,” the voices whispered. “Dream’s Favor,” they repeated. 

Technoblade waited for Quackity to leave. He then turned and started heading home.

“He doesn’t deserve it. But…” 

The word wouldn’t stop echoing in his ears.

“…. Hm.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have severe mental health issues
> 
> do not find me


End file.
